Barrett

The second cup of coffee didn’t help with the writing. Neither is the third.

I push off the couch and stomp into the kitchen to dump the brew down the drain. If anything, the extra caffeine has made it more difficult to concentrate. What’s with writers and coffee? How do they sit still?

I drink a glass of water, and then tip my neck to the ceiling. It cracks in protest. Sitting on the couch, my head bent at an awkward angle is not exactly a chiropractor-recommended posture. I swallow the rest of the water and my brain rewinds to last night. Catarina. Pert breasts that tasted like candy. The sounds she makes when she’s coming.

She was begging me to go to bed with her and I told her no. That wasn’t like me. I frown and refill my glass. When a girl wants it, I give it to her. Period. End of statement. Anytime Beth and I were “off” or “on a break” and I met a girl who wanted a quickie, I could have my pants around my ankles in record time.

So what’s up with Catarina wanting it and me telling her no? It wasn’t a power play. I lean a hip on the countertop and stare blankly at my sparkling tile floors while I think. Definitely not that. I don’t get off on turning her on and walking away. I nearly got off on turning her on and snuggling next to her on the couch.

I meant what I said about not having time to do what I wanted to do to her. There are curves that need exploring. Knees that deserve my undivided attention. Her brown eyes went as black as ink when my fingertips grazed her inner knee. There’s no way I’ll skip over that part next time.

My cellphone lets out the jangling ringtone I set for the front desk specifically. I press the screen and answer, “Barrett Fox.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Fox. I have an Aaron Fox requesting to come up.”

My brother. If he didn’t call that means he wants something and doesn’t want to be told no. It’s usually money, which means I can transfer some to his account and have him out of here in five minutes. Sometimes though, like the time he found out his girlfriend was pregnant and dove into a bottle of Jack Daniels, the visits are longer.

“And Mattie!” comes a little boy’s shout and my heart pinches. That girlfriend who was pregnant gave birth to a red-haired kid I fell in love with in the maternity ward of the hospital four years ago.

“Send them up.”

“Will do, sir. By the way, the elevator is now going all the way up so you can meet them in your entryway.”

I thank the security guy and pocket my phone, waiting the few minutes it takes for the elevator to ding on my private floor. When the doors slide open, my heart melts.

Matrix Barrett Fox is a tornado. He crashes into my legs, craning his neck to send me a huge smile.

“Mattie!” I bellow, bending to thump his back and hug him in return. “What is up, my man?”

We cover a lot of ground in the conversation that follows. The zoo. The arcade. Swimming at Grandma’s pool. Spider-Man. McDonald’s. I can barely keep up.

“Jenni dropped him off because she has a job interview today.” Aaron slouches his way into my apartment. “Fuck, your place is nice. I can’t get over it.”

“Aaron.” I gesture to my nephew who’s already found my laptop. “Language in front of the kid?”

He grunts.

I swipe the laptop out of Mattie’s hands and swap it for the iPad standing on a nearby counter. The last thing I need is the kid erasing three hundred words I absolutely bled for today.

“What are you two troublemakers up to?” I ask, my voice in Mattie-tone. “Picking up girls?” I nudge his arms and he predictably responds with “Yuck!”

Mattie was born right before I left for Miami. It killed me to leave. In just under a year Jenni was threatening to never let Aaron see Mattie again and every last phone conversation with my mother at that time was an exhausting replay of what “that bitch, Jenni” did or said. Since then, Aaron and Jenni have had a rocky relationship, but one that permits him to see Mattie more often if he wants. In typical Aaron fashion, he doesn’t keep a regular schedule.

“What’s up?” I ask my brother, my tone grave. He has to have a reason to show up without calling.

“Need you to watch him for a few hours.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“I mean do you also have a Sunday job interview or are you going to a car show?”

“Why the fu—”

At my stern glare, he cuts himself off.

“What the heck do you care if I go to a car show?”

I gesture to Mattie. It’s obvious why I’m asking. A chance—and trust me it doesn’t happen that often—to spend the day with his son and he wants me to babysit?

“Why not take Mattie with you?” I nudge my nephew’s small shoulder. “You like cars, right?”

“Yeah!”

“He’s hell on wheels, you know that,” Aaron mumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets. I follow his freckled arms up to his screen-printed T-shirt and equally freckled, frowning face. “Two hours, Bare. Gimme a break.”

Mattie peels his attention from the iPad to look up at me with hazel eyes.

“Do you want to hang out with boring Uncle Barrett?” I ask him.

“Yeah!” My chest fills to capacity with love for my nephew.

“I’ll be back.” Aaron says. “Be good to your uncle.”

“Bye, Dad!” Mattie’s already found a game on the iPad. It seems whenever he’s around Aaron, he’s around me. I’m like an extension of his dad. I don’t mind. I really don’t.

And anyway, what’s two hours?

Catarina

Cartoon sound effects are coming from the entryway of Barrett’s apartment when the elevator doors slide open. I arrived uninvited, but the security guy downstairs made a quick phone call before unlocking the top floor and sending me up.

If Barrett minded me stopping by unannounced, he didn’t convey it via the front desk. He didn’t even ask why I was here. Which is good since I’m not sure why I’m here.

I wrote my column this morning, finished a load of laundry, took a walk to Starbucks and…ordered two cups. A tall, black dark roast for Barrett and my typical Pike Place with cream. Cups in hand, I call out “knock knock!” from the open front door.

The cartoon sounds are interrupted by a child’s voice calling, “Who’s that?!”

I stop in my tracks when I’m confronted with an adorable little boy. His face screws into a question mark, nose wrinkling.

“Who are you?”

“Mattie, that’s not nice.” Barrett, laptop in hand, swaggers to the door looking tired. He sounds it, too. “Hey, Kitty Cat.”

“I was in the neighborhood.” I hand over his coffee and he shuts the door behind me.

“Your name’s Kitty Cat?” Mattie’s laughter is adorable—and I don’t consider myself a kid person. Imagine my surprise when I’m giggling with him.

“My name is Catarina. And you’re Mattie.” I extend a hand and he slaps it. I shake out the sting on my palm, wincing while Barrett watches me with a half smile.

“Buddy, why don’t you try your mom again?”

“ ’Kay!” Mattie takes the offered cellphone and punches the numbers before putting the phone to his ear. He’s wiggling all over the couch, then the chair, his sneakers stabbing into the white leather and leaving dirt marks. I wrinkle my nose.

“Not used to tiny humans?” Barrett asks, watching Mattie with me.

“I’m never around them.”

“She’s not there!” Mattie announces, chucking the iPhone onto the couch where it bounces once and lands on the carpet with a muted thud.

“She’ll be here.” Barrett looks over his shoulder to check the clock on the stove. “Late as usual.”

I inspect Mattie with mild alarm. His red hair is redder than Barrett’s and his hazel eyes aren’t Barrett’s true blue. But they have the same strong chin, and though Mattie’s a child, I can tell he’s going to be tall.

“You never mentioned…” I start, gesturing to the little boy.

Barrett’s eyebrows pinch. He swallows his coffee, follows my gaze to Mattie, and then tracks back to me.

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?”

“I didn’t think you’d care.”

My mouth drops open in offense. “Of course I care!”

“We don’t share that many friendly factoids.”

“He’s a human being. Hardly a factoid.”

“You’re thinking about the column.”

“No, I’m not.” Except I sort of am. “Not in an exploitive way,” I add in a small voice.

Barrett lets out a warm chuckle.

“He looks like you.” I cock my head to the side and study Mattie, who’s rolling around on the floor with an iPad. The loud music has started again, interspersed with electronic explosions to which Mattie adds his own sound effects.

“Everyone says that. I don’t see it.”

“What are you working on?” I ask about the laptop sitting open on the counter. “Your column?”

“There’s no working with him here,” Barrett mutters quietly. “I like having him here—don’t get me wrong, but whenever Jenni pulls this shit, there’s no warning. And Aaron isn’t much better.”

Jenni. Aaron. I assume Jenni is…an ex-girlfriend? The math doesn’t work out with Beth since they dated on and off for six years. Unless when they were “off” Barrett impregnated this Jenni person. No clue who Aaron is though. Maybe the stepdad?

“If she doesn’t show up, we’re going to have to order pizza.”

“Pizza!” Mattie shouts, not too steeped in the world of war on the iPad screen to miss an offer of the perfect food.

A doorbell chimes through the apartment at the same time the door swings aside, depositing a tall, lean red-haired man into the living room. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You said two hours. It’s closing in on five,” Barrett says. “I called Jenni.”

“Jenni?” the other man snaps, looking mean. “I told you I’d be back.”

“Yes. In two hours,” Barrett replies tiredly before blinking at me like he just remembered I was here. “This is Aaron, my brother.”

“Aaron your brother.” My tone is surprised as I offer a hand. Aaron shakes it as I inspect his wardrobe. Denim shorts covered in grease stains and a dark blue T-shirt with an eagle carrying a banner that reads: FREEDOM.

Conversely, Barrett wears a soft-looking pair of jeans that are worn at the thighs and a black T-shirt with nothing on it at all. His hair is styled and his scruff is neat. His muscles play and flirt beneath the material, whereas Aaron’s lean build doesn’t allow for shifting muscle. Aaron’s scruff is scraggly and bright red. His hair fuzzy from lack of hair products. They look the same but…not the same at all. By the time I register Aaron has the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen, I push two rather obvious puzzle pieces together.

“Mattie’s your son,” I say to Aaron. Then I turn to Barrett. “Your nephew.”

“And who are you, pretty lady?” Aaron’s expression borders on lecherous. I tighten my grip on my coffee cup and step closer to Barrett.

“She’s Kitty Cat!” Mattie hops over to his father. “Where’s mom?”

“We’re going to go see her now.” Aaron flicks a look to me and Barrett, hesitating. “Say, bro, do you have twenty bucks? I need to fill up the tank. Might need you to check the engine, too. Something’s rattling.”

Next to me Barrett is a wall of tension. The air practically vibrates with it. He pulls his wallet out and slaps a twenty into his brother’s hand.

“Uncle Barrett said we were getting pizza!” Mattie grins. “I love pizza.”

“Well, unless Uncle Barrett is buying, we can’t get pizza,” Aaron says, obviously hinting for more cash. Cash Barrett delivers with minimal reluctance. Giving his brother money appears to be commonplace.

“Thanks, man. I owe ya. Nice to meet you, Kitty Cat.” Aaron’s voice is slimy.

“It’s Catarina.”

He ignores me and leads Mattie to the door.

“Hey, kiddo. I need that.” Barrett holds out a hand for the iPad which Mattie returns, though part of me wonders if Aaron wasn’t aware his son was walking out with it.

“Big hug.” Barrett kneels and Mattie loops his arms around his uncle’s neck and squeezes, growling as he squeezes harder. Barrett fakes choking and falls to one side while Mattie giggles. It’s so sweet. “Love you, bud. Be good, okay?”

Mattie yells “Okay!” and Barrett shuts the door.

He jerks a thumb at the closed panel. “You thought Mattie was mine?”

“What was I supposed to think?”

“I guess I didn’t consider that. Thought it was obvious he wasn’t.”

Silence hangs in the air for a few seconds before he folds onto his couch and runs a hand through his hair. Outside, the sun sits low in the sky, making room for the moon though it’s not dark yet.

I sit next to him and swipe at a dirty shoe smudge on the couch cushion. “Do you have any leather cleaner?”

“No, but my housekeeper does.”

Housekeeper. Right. Of course he has a housekeeper. A vision of a cute blonde in a tiny black-and-white maid costume clatters into my head. I shove it out.

“I take it you’re not big on kids.” He’s leaning back, deliciously sprawled with a cup of coffee hanging from his fingers.

As a woman who just edged over thirty years old, I take immediate offense. Why is it women are always answering for the whole not-having-kids thing?

“Are you ‘big on kids?’ ” I ask, peeved.

He shrugs. “I love kids. That kid especially.”

“But you never had any of your own.” I continue poking.

“Beth and I weren’t stable. My career was all over the place.”

“If not for that you’d be a dad?”

“Yeah. Hell yeah.”

I study him like he’s a rare find behind museum glass. With a card to the right reading “Bad Boy Who Loves Kids.” It fits him and doesn’t at the same time.

His hand slides into my hair and plays in the strands. I make a concerted effort not to purr.

“My brother’s…” he trails off and shakes his head. “Do you have siblings?”

“No.”

“We grew up in a…less pretty part of town than you did, Kitty Cat. One with trailers instead of mansions.”

“I hardly grew up in a mansion.” I’m almost offended though I don’t know why.

“Did you have a big house? Big yard? Nice neighborhood where the kids could play in the street?”

Reluctantly, I nod.

“Mansion.”

“And you grew up in a trailer?”

“For a while.” He dips his chin, his face turning to granite.

“You seem to have done okay for yourself.” I glance around his apartment.

“It comes with a price.” Every rigid angle of his body tells me to stop talking. I’m insatiably curious by nature, but with him it’s a compulsion.

“You were the one in your family with money,” I guess, further assuming, “The only one with money.”

He looks away and that’s as good as a confirmation.

“Does Aaron lean on you a lot?”

He fiddles with the lid of his coffee cup instead of answering. I decide to tread lightly.

“Is there more you can tell me?”

His blue eyes are as hard as sapphires when he meets my gaze. Like he knows I’ll keep pushing until he shares.

“Mom and Dad liked to party, which is a nice way to say they were drunks. Aaron isn’t as bad as they were, but close. When I was younger, he and I used to do stupid shit like bash in mailboxes with baseball bats and run around egging cars. I stopped to play ball; he didn’t. I was a horrible kid and a worse teenager and if I didn’t have the arm I had, I’d probably be in jail.”

When he looks away, it’s in shame. My heart swells, every cell in my body leaning closer to him. Wanting to comfort him.

“There was no country club for us, Kitty Cat. No fancy cars or golf lessons. I didn’t know food came from anywhere other than a cardboard box labeled Kraft until I was thirteen.”

I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing.

He lifts his hand and drops it on his lap, picking at a frayed hole in his jeans. “My brother’s like a kid. He needs a handler. He always needs money. I made sure he had a car so he could pick up his son and, hopefully, he’ll go back to work. When our parents died, I gave him the house but I paid the back taxes or else he’d have lost it, too. I have money. It’s not a big deal.”

He shakes his head like he isn’t sure why he’s upset. “First-world problems, right?”

“It’s not about the money. I can see that,” I say in his defense. “You work hard and don’t want to be taken advantage of. But you care about him so you don’t say no. It’s unfair and he’s entitled.”

“I don’t want Mattie growing up like we did.” He lets out a gusty sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “He has it hard enough. If I didn’t help Aaron out he’d be living in the car I bought him.” He grunts, understandably frustrated.

It’s a double-edged sword. Leaving Aaron in the dark is one thing, but he has a son who Barrett loves with all his heart.

“You’re a good brother.” I rest my hand on his and squeeze. When he looks over at me, I smile. “And a good uncle.”

His heated gaze holds me captive and my skin tingles. I pat his hand and move to stand. He pulls me back down next to him. “You didn’t tell me why you were here.”

“Partly because we have to decide on our next date. Partly to check on your progress on the column…I’m guessing not great since you had Mattie today, huh?”

“Going to miss my first deadline unless I pull an all-nighter.” He goes back to playing with my hair, his fingertips rubbing the strands. “What about you? Get it done?”

I nod.

“Probably had it done by lunch.”

I nod again. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He lets out a tired laugh. “I love that you’re good at what you do.”

He looks exhausted and sad and tired in a way that a nap won’t fix. I hate seeing him like this. I face him.

“Let me help you, Fox. I can have your column done in an hour. Afterward, you can read it and make sure it sounds like you. I’m really good. I bet I could mimic your voice.”

I pull my shoulders back, dropping my voice as low as it goes.

“There are three things I know about Kitty Cat Everhart. One, she eats everything in sight. Two, she’s hopelessly impressed by my singing on stage. Three—

“Her lips taste better than a funnel cake and an ice cream cone rolled into one,” he drawls. “I miss that taste already and it hasn’t been twenty-four hours.”

His eyes are locked on mine. As if on cue, we both lean forward.

“Why did you really come here tonight?” he asks.

Truth? Or lie? I chew on the edge of my lip, debating.

“I wanted to tell you our first column ran today.” That’s the truth. But it’s not why I’m here.

“You could’ve texted me that information.” His finger swipes my cheek.

“The response is really good. Mia says the sooner we have the second article up the better. That’s why the deadline’s so tight.”

“Are you trying to turn me off?” Barrett’s eyebrows sink in mock contemplation.

“Sorry. I’m nervous.”

“Why’s that?” His fingers stroke down my throat and play along the scoop neck of my shirt. It tickles in the most sensuous way possible.

“I’m afraid you’ll tell me no again.” Whoa. Truth. Bomb. I blink in surprise, hardly able to believe I said that out loud.

“Where do you see this going, Kitty Cat? Other than to my bedroom.”

I can’t repress a shiver at the mention of his bedroom. I offer a one-shouldered shrug.

“I didn’t expect you to care where it went. Aren’t you the love-’em-leave-’em type?”

“If you believe the tabloids.”

“What about the other girls during the ‘off’ days with your girlfriend?” I suck in a breath as his fingers whisper over my chest and then to my ribs. He takes my coffee and sets both of our cups on the low table in front of us.

“Talking about work and my ex-girlfriend are surefire ways to erase the chubby I’m working on.” He smiles. “Guessing that’s not the direction you want it to go.”

I grin, slipping my eyes from his because he’s too close. Too intense. Maybe this is a bad idea…

“Up,” he instructs, tugging my shirt to my bra and nudging my arms.

Obediently, I raise my arms and my soft cotton shirt is on the floor a moment later. His eyes linger on my black lace bra.

“Tell me you’re wearing matching underwear.”

“It’s a secret,” I whisper, my nerves fading.

So what if we work together? So what if my feminist friends throw me off a bridge? I can’t think about repercussions now. Not when everything feels this right. We’re acting on instincts alone—or at least I am.

“Fox? Why do I have the feeling you’re the one who’s overthinking?”

“I don’t want you to wake up in the morning with regrets.”

“Hello? I don’t regret last night.”

“That was just a warm-up.” His words are a warning. I clinch my thighs together.

“Are you so potent that I won’t be able to resist you after one night?”

“I sure as fuck hope so.”